Monday, March 16, 2015

"Curators"

When
strolling the galleries of museums both grand and intimate, I am always
grateful for the discerning eye and expertise of curators even if I don’t
always fancy the art itself.

In college, I
interned at a terrific museum in Washington, DC devoted to art by women. I went
on behind-the-scenes tours of other museums ranging from the National Gallery
to the Corcoran, and sat down with curators for brown bag lunches to learn
about what they do. I even helped take a Frankenthaler off the wall.

Respect,
y’all.

But sadly the
ranks of actual curators have been breached and sullied. Just like anyone can
start a blog, print up 100 Moo cards, and call themselves a professional
writer, so too can some yambag create a list of cured meats for a regional magazine or
a collection of sunglasses or yoga pants for Piperlime.

So you eat a
lot of sausage and like to shop. Do you have a PhD in anything remotely
relevant? Is there any standard that makes you a bona fide expert in anything
other than being obnoxious? And there’s the trend to call employees “content
curators.” Call me crazy but in my day, that was an editor. So go ahead and
offer your top ten list or opinion freely and often, but don’t call yourself a
curator. The only thing you’re qualified to select and collect is my ire.

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